


amicus

by story_monger



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_monger/pseuds/story_monger
Summary: Eiffel and Lovelace work on damage assessment in the wake of the contact event. Shenanigans and confrontations ensue.Takes place between "Into the Depths" and "Theta Scenario". Spoiler warnings apply.





	amicus

**Author's Note:**

> I needed these trauma kids to have some bonding time, especially after one of them watched the other die.
> 
> Also, there needs to be more fic about the Eiffel-Lovelace friendship, so I'm trying to do my part.

“Welp. Looks like our secondary heating system is hanging on by a very thin thread,” Lovelace announces. She wipes a hand down her face before glancing over at Eiffel. “What number are we up to?”

Eiffel, who is floating upside down a few feet away, flashes his clipboard. “That, Captain, is the 25th system that is either seriously compromised or out and out dead.”

“Aw. Just like the old days.”

“The nostalgia warms my heart,” Eiffel deadpans. He sighs and kicks lazily at a nearby wall, sending him into a slow cartwheel. “If Hera and Minkowski are finding as many issues on their side of the ship—“

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Lovelace interrupts. “For now, we’re focusing on damage assessment. That’s it.”

“Sir yes sir.”

“Good.” Lovelace returns her attention to the switchboard in front of her. “All right. Next is the helium processor.” She inputs a series of commands, and she and Eiffel wait for the familiar beep that tells them the processor is working nominally. Nothing comes.

“Well.” Lovelace exhales. “That’s system twenty—“

“It might not be,” Eiffel says. He pushes himself off the wall to float toward Lovelace and the switchboard. “Yeah, see?” He points at the readouts. “The signal is coming through loud and clear. But the physical tank itself can get…stuck, sometimes? I remember, even back in the early days, sometimes the helium wasn’t working and someone would have to go down to the main tank and bang it a few times.” He makes a face. “Namely me.”

“Think we should head down and see if that’s the issue?”

“It would be one less system to worry about.”

“All right. Field trip time.”

“Aw yeah.” Eiffel lets his clipboard float away. “Lead the way, Frizzle.”

The pair of them make their way down the passageways in relative silence. The combined station that is the Urania and Hephaestus is large and sprawling at the best of times, but with two people dead and two people in the brig, the largeness takes on a hard edge. Echoes seem to last longer than they should; creaks and groans of metal sound more…alive. Lovelace realizes Eiffel is sticking close, and she can’t blame him.

“If we turn a corner and there’s twins standing at the end of the hall,” Eiffel mutters, “I’m bailing.”

Lovelace considers this and glances back at him. “If they’re floating in zero-G,” she says, “is that better or worse?”

Eiffel stares. The laugh bursts from him like a gunshot. He doubles over, arms clutching his midsection, and Lovelace finds she can’t help but start giggling too.

“Oh my god,” Eiffel gasps. Blobs of tears drift from his eyes. “Oh my _god._ Floating Shining twins. All—they try to lo-look all menacing and then they start tipping ba-a—“ He collapses into another bought of laughter; Lovelace’s giggles turn into loud, full belly laughs. They’re floating helplessly in the middle of the passageway, laughing their heads off, and Lovelace can’t help but wonder if it’s actually that funny. Eventually, they sputter back into sanity.

“Ugh,” Lovelace groans, fanning her face. “Okay. Officially, I will forever cherish that mental image. _Christ_.”

“Same.” Eiffel wipes at his eyes with his forearm and giggles roughly. “Shit. I needed that.”

They still don’t move. The leftover giggles fade. When Lovelace looks up, she realizes Eiffel is watching her. His eyes seem raw, and his expression is hard to read.

“What? Something on my face?” she asks.

Eiffel exhales and shakes his head slightly, thoughtlessly. “No, I—“ He cuts himself off, and he wipes at his eyes again. “I’m. Really. _Really_ glad you’re not dead.”

Lovelace gives the bland smile she always presents when she doesn’t know how else to respond. “I mean, same.”

Eiffel’s expression crumples. “Captain.”

“What?”

“You were shot. In the head. Then you came _back_. And found out you’re technically an alien? Then got possessed and I just.” Eiffel rubs his hands on his thighs, looking away with his eyebrows drawn together. “You don’t have to pretend to be all right for our sake. You’re allowed to be…messed up over this.”

Lovelace inhales sharply and bites at her bottom lip. “Eiffel I—“ She stops, tilts back her head. “I don’t know if it’s caught up to me, honestly.” Eiffel nods. “I mean,” Lovelace continues. “You have to remember. I’ve gotten really good at suppressing. At packing it away because I’ve got bigger things to worry about. When my whole damn crew was dying. When I had to build an escape shuttle. When I came back to the Hephaestus and found you guys. When the ship was literally rotting away. When Kepler took over. Now. There’s always an emergency. There’s no time to go to therapy.“

“Yeah, except you need to make time for it,” Eiffel says. “Otherwise all the stuff you packed away just sits there and rots.” He snorts. “I’m saying this as the guy who drank his liver into oblivion, destroyed his daughter’s life, ran away to space, suppressed _everything_ under a bullshit sense of bad humor and what did it get me? Just a bigger mess to deal with. So now I’m dealing with it. And I’m just trying to spare you the same trouble, okay?”

“Well maybe I’m fine with the trouble,” Lovelace snaps. “Maybe it’s my damn trauma and I get to deal with it however I want.”

“Well maybe your trauma is tangled up with mine, Lovelace,” Eiffel snaps back. “Maybe I had to watch my friend sacrifice herself, and I couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it, and I watched you get shot point blank in the head, and you just _drifted_ there, and the blood was—“

“Eiffel, you want to stop right—“

“—was coming out of the _hole in your head in blobs_ , and I had to keep looking at Kepler, keep talking to him, because if I looked at you, I was going to lose it because you had survived so much and that bastard took it all away from you like it didn't fucking matter and—I couldn’t—“ He looks away. “I couldn’t.” He doesn’t finish.

Lovelace realizes that she’s breathing hard. Eiffel is too. The ship creaks around them. Eiffel deflates and groans as he buries both hands in his hair. “Sorry. Sorry. That wasn’t okay to say.”

Lovelace lifts one shaky hand and presses it to a point high on her forehead, just below her hairline. Eiffel’s face falls.

“I keep expecting to find something here.” Lovelace rubs the spot lightly, feels the unblemished skin and the smooth curve of her skull underneath. “A dent. Shrapnel. Even a bruise. But there’s nothing there.” She falters into silence, blinking hard.

“Lovelace.” Eiffel pushes toward her and then his arms are around her shoulders, and Lovelace collapses inward to dig her forehead against the curve of his neck. He smells like sweat and unwashed clothes and like a real, living human, and she finds her arms wrapping around his waist and holding on. If it hurts, he doesn’t say anything. He just brings up a hand to dig into her unkempt hair and says something low and nonsensical. For an addled moment, Lovelace thinks that this must be how he used to talk to his daughter when she was small and frightened and needed comfort. For a long while, neither of them speak nor move. Lovelace can’t remember the last time she hugged someone like this.

“I didn’t mean to push you,” Eiffel murmurs at length. “I just needed to tell you. You’re not alone. Me, Minkowski, and Hera; we’re here and we love you and we want you to be okay. You don’t need to act like you’re fine when you’re not; that’s not an obligation you have.” He huffs. “Literally none of us are fine. You’re in good company.”

Lovelace nods slightly. “Okay,” she rasps.

“Good.” Eiffel shifts. “Whenever you want to talk, we’ll listen.” He tightens his grip on her. “Even if Minkowski and me are plain old boring humans and not _basically_ X-Men.”

“Oh god,” Lovelace groans, hiding her grin in Eiffel’s shoulder.

“Accept it, Captain. You’re the closest thing to Wolverine we’re gonna get.”

“I don’t think I can pull off the retractable claws.”

“Eh. We’ve got that box of tactical knives you could carry around. Close enough.”

Lovelace snorts wearily, but she doesn’t loosen her grip. Yes, in a few minutes she and Eiffel are going to have to head down to the helium tank and see if hitting it a few times will persuade it to work. And this evening, they’ll have to meet with Minkowski and Hera to discuss exactly how boned they are. And they’ll have to confront Kepler to see if they can force intel from him. And they’ll have to decide how to deal with the aliens’ message. And whether to go home. And how they’re going to kick Goddard’s ass into the sun. And sure, at some point Lovelace should confront the philosophical puzzle that is now her entire existence. Probably.

But that’s later. For now, Lovelace tries to focus on the comfort of another person's sheer physical presence; she tries to make herself believe that what he’s saying is true. That she’s going to be okay.

She’s faced longer odds.

 


End file.
